


Mutual Friends

by gaudy_night



Series: Mutual Friends [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-29 00:41:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaudy_night/pseuds/gaudy_night
Summary: A post-Batman Begins conversation between newly formed allies Rachel Dawes and Jim Gordon.
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne, Rachel Dawes & Bruce Wayne, Rachel Dawes & Jim Gordon, Rachel Dawes/Harvey Dent
Series: Mutual Friends [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218932
Kudos: 2





	Mutual Friends

They sat on opposite sides of the old wooden desk, a tall stack of paperwork to their left and another to their right, each one hovering menacingly over them as if threatening to come crashing down at any given moment.

Rachel Dawes looked up from the manila folders and countless forms scattered before her and caught Jim Gordon eyeing the massive twin towers of even more statements, interviews, and reports with more than a touch of uneasiness.

She ceased her paper shuffling for a moment and raised her eyebrows in question. “Everything all right, Sergeant?”

The man sitting across from her did an admirable job of quickly hiding the anxiety and bewilderment which had occupied his face not a few seconds ago.

Gordon met her eyes and answered with a small, tentative smile. “It’s _Lieutenant_ ,” he corrected her quietly, proudly.

Rachel couldn’t help but return the smile. “My apologies, _Lieutenant_ Gordon,” she amended in what she hoped was a relaxed, friendly manner.

A full-fledged grin was on the officer’s face now. For a brief instant, Gordon appeared surprisingly boyish and eager. The happy expression all but completely transformed his face, instantly taking years of stress and worry off of it. Rachel found it rather charming. Seizing the moment, she leaned back in her chair and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Congratulations, by the way,” she offered warmly. “From all accounts” – she gestured to the collection of archival boxes strewn about her office and more waiting out in the hallway beyond the open office door – “it’s certainly a well-deserved promotion.” She exclaimed, “Jim Gordon – the hero of the hour!”

To her amusement but not surprise, Gordon managed the rare feat of looking very pleased, his cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing the compliment while being painfully uncomfortable with the attention it had garnered him. He recovered quickly, though, and presented to her the somber demeanor that had since become a familiar image on the evening news.

But the break in… _character_ – she could think of no better way to put it – wasn’t the first time she’d observed this phenomenon, having spent considerable time with the man in this very office in recent days. She opened her mouth to comment on it when Gordon spoke first.

“All thanks to a… a _mutual friend_ ,” he added carefully.

Rachel smirked at the thinly veiled reference to the other mysterious but no less heroic creature that had single-handedly changed Gotham overnight. She found the lieutenant’s abrupt shift to gravity amusing – and clever, really – effectively deflecting the focus from him to the other notable figure in the story. As with the rest of Gotham, she was just as curious as to who or what this “Batman” was. She suspected Gordon _might_ be able to satisfy her curiosity, but he had yet to offer any information about the vigilante and thus far, showed no signs of doing so.

She picked up her pen and returned to work, her eyes skimming quickly through the file in her hand for any irregularities. _Ha!_ She smirked inwardly. _Irregularities._

She kept her eyes firmly trained on the papers before her. “Yes, indeed,” she murmured. “Our ‘Mutual Friend.’”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed Gordon’s eyes return to the precarious stacks surrounding them, his eyebrows rising high above the frame of his glasses, no doubt at the sheer volume of it all and the unbelievable amount of minutiae bundled together in the small room.

She didn’t blame him. _Precarious_ was an apt word. One false move and the case would be over before it even began. As enthusiastic as the public was about their new heroes and the idea of – finally – justice, there were still plenty of _i_ ’s to dot and _t_ ’s to cross. As confident as she tried to portray herself, the entire case was beyond human comprehension. Nothing in her past training or experience as a lawyer could have even begun to prepare her for the sweeping magnitude and abnormality of this case.

Flass was easy enough to prosecute – Gordon had provided more than enough information to guarantee a quick conviction – but Crane and the sinister Ducard… she sighed. Those two trials would require some feat of genius on her part to adequately administer justice to the full extent of the law. Then there was Falcone who, though driven completely out of his mind, still had his lawyers enthusiastically fighting for their client’s innocence.

With another heavy sigh, she sat back in her chair and stretched. She crossed her arms over her chest, pondering the fantastic events that brought them to this point.

Gordon appeared to be deep in thought as well, his gaze resting on tiny particles of dust floating carelessly in the assistant DA’s office.

She interrupted his private musings. “You haven’t answered my question.” 

Gordon frowned.

“Is everything all right?” she repeated.

She received a single, solemn nod in response.

“Good.” She spoke reassuringly, “You’ll be fine.”

Gordon nodded once again, displaying, if possible, even less emotion than before.

They sat in silence. Rachel settled back into her work when after a full minute, Gordon suddenly commented, “I’ve never had to testify on something of this… magnitude before.”

 _Who has?_ She smiled. “Oh?” she asked casually, her attention temporarily diverted by some notes she’d scribbled on a random slip of paper, a hasty reminder to cross-reference a witness’s statement with something or other. She tucked it back inside the appropriate folder. Careful to maintain a casual approach, she asked, “Are you nervous?”

Gordon shrugged.

They sat in some semblance of companionable silence for another full minute, Rachel surreptitiously watching Gordon, Gordon staring off into space, the two of them in her cramped, musty office – a closet, really – before she spoke again.

“You look like you have something on your mind. Is there something about our case that’s bothering you?”

She held her breath.

“Do you have any other questions for me?” he asked eventually.

“Not at the moment,” she replied. “I’ll let you know.”

Gordon leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands wringing together. After a long, private debate, he asked, “What if they try to… What if they don’t believe a word I say?”

She thought it was an odd thing to say for a veteran police officer who had surely testified in a court of law several times before, but Rachel Dawes in her few months in the district attorney’s office had heard far, far stranger things than that. The most recent, of course, was that of a human, bat-like creature crusading for truth and justice. She pondered, _Perhaps the question was understandable after all_.

“‘They’? Who would that be?”

Gordon shrugged again.

“You know the drill: tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” she urged him. “No more, no less.” It _was_ good, sound, and legal advice.

Gordon looked doubtful, but he agreed. “Okay.”

“That’s why we’re here. I’ll make sure you’re prepared when the time comes.”

Gordon nodded. “Okay,” he said again, but still he looked unconvinced.

Rachel had to smile. The newly minted lieutenant was a man of few words, but then again, she probably could have guessed that. The “Batman” wouldn’t have so casually recruited a partner of sorts to help him in his campaign. Despite Gordon’s now-obliterated obscurity – she’d had to study his file to acquaint herself with his history – she could already tell “Batman” had chosen well for himself.

Rachel turned her attention back to the paperwork. Gordon sat politely across the desk and waited for further instructions. She looked down at the questions she’d already asked this morning and the concise answers he’d offered thus far. She laughed aloud, earning herself a deep frown from the man for her trouble. The case _was_ bizarre from any angle, and it didn’t help that Gordon’s answers were so careful, so concise they verged on stilted, especially where their “Mutual Friend” was concerned. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed it was _Gordon_ who had a secret to hide. Juries unerringly sensed that sort of thing. She and Gordon would have to work on his delivery. Soon. But not today.

“Thank you again for coming in,” she said.

Gordon acknowledged the comment with another nod.

Each time she had asked him to come, he’d quickly accepted. She’d worried that with the frequency of her “summons,” he’d judge her as disorganized and woefully in over her head, but he had been nothing less than willing and eager to assist every time – though in his own reserved fashion. Rachel could afford to be patient. As impressive as her resume was – the youngest and most successful assistant district attorney in the city’s history – she was very aware that the balance of power in Gotham was shifting, and the unassuming man sitting before her was a powerful ally to have.

But he wasn’t the only one.

“Mutual Friend” – she smiled at the appellation. She liked to imagine that Gordon, too, enjoyed their little game. And he was extremely protective of the “Batman” and his nightly activities. Rachel herself had been personally approached three times by the creature, each time with supplemental material to help with the case. With a thin smile, she remembered the first time the Bat had ambushed her. When her heart had finally stopped hammering, he’d tossed Gordon’s file at her feet and vanished without a trace.

She supposed that at any other time and place, she would have been filled with a sense of wonder and gratitude at having been singled out by the costumed vigilante, but this _was_ Gotham. Cynicism was a difficult habit to break.

But where she still had her misgivings where the Bat was concerned, she had none when it came to Jim Gordon. His fifteen-plus years of service on the force had convinced her that quite possibly, he truly was the last honest cop in Gotham. How the vigilante had known this and how Rachel Dawes hadn’t known it until now was a complete mystery to her, but there it was in black and white: Jim Gordon was one of the good guys.

She smiled brightly at him, hoping to inspire confidence and encourage a sense of familiarity and rapport.

Instead, she startled him.

Gordon cleared his throat. “Is there anything specific I should do to prepare myself, Miss Dawes? Anything that would make the case easier for your office to prosecute?”

She answered with a question of her own. “Isn’t today your day off, Lieutenant?”

She’d observed the subtle, slightly relaxed change in his demeanor today. Of course, there was the absence of a necktie, but the level of formality was more than compensated for with a collared shirt neatly tucked into pressed slacks – and of course, the lieutenant’s ever-present bulky jacket. For all she knew, the man – whether consciously or subconsciously – was compensating for his lean build. Or, Rachel supposed a cop on the mean streets of Gotham needed all the help he could get. It was a matter of survival.

He shrugged, his hands folded in his lap. His eyes dutifully followed her pen as it rapidly scrawled across yet another form.

Rachel sighed, and before the quiet atmosphere could grow uncomfortable, she resolutely set her pen down. In her mind, it had seemed efficient to prepare the case with the main officer involved present – and it had been – but enough was enough. She needed some fresh air to clear her mind.

She studied Gordon. He was looking at his watch. A thought struck her. Was Gordon present only because of the Bat? Rachel sensed the vigilante’s hand in this arrangement. Was Gordon sent to report on her progress?

The thought displeased her.

But she and Gordon were obviously meant to work together. Both of them shared an intensely personal interest in the outcome of the case. The special circumstances surrounding the Narrows that fateful evening, followed by the arrests of Flass, Crane, Ducard, and Falcone only served to tie them closer together. However, there was a distinct anxiety about the lieutenant she couldn’t quite identify. An invisible wall stood between them. It worried her a little and was becoming a source of personal concern.

In the motion of standing up and retrieving her sweater from where it was draped across the back of her chair, she said, “I think it’s time for a break, don’t you? Why don’t we head across the street and have lunch?”

Gordon’s head snapped up. A series of expressions crossed his face, from hesitation to alarm to panic. “I’m… fine. Thank you, Miss Dawes,” he eventually answered in that slow cadence of his Rachel was growing accustomed to hearing. Careful answers always. “What time would you like me to return?” He looked at his watch. “Maybe an hour?”

Rachel glared at him, hands on her hips.

Gordon quickly amended his offer. “An hour and a half?”

“Is there someplace you need to be?”

“No,” he answered.

She sighed. Not that she was a vain woman who craved attention and company, but she was actually looking forward to and very much determined to get to know this man. There really was no delicate way to put it, so she plunged straight in.

“Actually, _Jim_ , I was hoping we could have lunch _together._ ”

His eyes widened behind his glasses.

Restraining a sigh, Rachel put on her sweater and reached for her purse. Gordon stood up as well, looking extremely ill at ease. She wanted to laugh and tease. Any other man would have instantly accepted the invitation, but Gordon looked ready to bolt in the opposite direction. He looked threatened. She supposed she should be offended, but it was all too amusing. Not that the lieutenant wasn’t appealing, but he had nothing to worry about. Not from her, anyway. Not her type at all. But other women? She smirked. Undoubtedly. The women of Gotham enjoyed a certain degree of danger and recklessness in their men, and the number Gordon did on that train and Wayne Tower far surpassed the quota.

The city was wholly infatuated with the man. Overnight, Gordon had vaulted from obscurity to Gotham’s leading lawman and one of its most eligible bachelors. He’d captured the attention of all, including – Rachel couldn’t help but snicker in amusement – the attention of a certain male acquaintance of hers for whom Lieutenant James W. Gordon was _exactly_ his type.

“Come on,” she said teasingly. “It’ll be fun. Promise I won’t bite.”

“I’ll come back later.” There was a greater firmness in his response and a tighter smile. “It’s no trouble.”

Rachel took a moment to regroup. She recognized that type of resolve. Despite Gordon’s gentle, weary exterior, there was conviction and purpose. It was admirable, and she was glad to see it. Once again, proof positive Batman had chosen this man well.

But she couldn’t help herself. She knew Gordon was unmarried and unattached, a detail the newspapers had quickly and giddily reported.

“Are you worried,” she teased, “that people will see us together? That they’ll think” – she wagged her eyebrows suggestively – “… _you know_.”

The man blanched.

“Is _that_ what you’re worried about?” She’d wanted to fluster the man, and she was succeeding.

He was older than her, but she’d long outgrown the need for a father figure. Instead, Gordon reminded her of an older brother or uncle who took things far too seriously than they should be. She found his thick-rimmed glasses and his old-fashioned mustache endearing, along with his sense of fashion – or lack of one. She suppressed an urge to cringe.

Whatever ridiculous thoughts were running through his head were irrelevant to her. Romantic entanglements were a dime a dozen, but a powerful political ally – and perhaps a genuine friend – would be worth his weight in gold. Had Gordon truly no idea of his value these days? Or _hers_ for that matter?

She was expecting a wry comment or something self-deprecating in return, and she was surprised at his flat response.

Gordon shook his head. “No.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Was he rejecting her invitation out of some archaic form of chivalry?

He refused to answer.

“Jim?”

“Miss Dawes, I don’t think… It’s not a good idea.”

“Come _on_ ,” she cajoled.

“Thank you, but no.”

She wanted to throw her hands up in defeat, but there was still some measure of dignity and an even greater abundance of stubbornness within her. Momentarily stymied, she resorted to pouting.

But Gordon was so earnest, so agitated. “Please, Miss Dawes. We can’t.”

“Rachel.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call me Rachel.”

Gordon remained silent.

“Jim?”

“ _No_.”

Defeated, she was about to walk out the door when light dawned.

She remembered a curious detail she’d found in the lieutenant’s otherwise spotless personnel file. A lone disciplinary suspension issued over a decade ago for “engaging in conduct unbecoming an officer.” The charges, as vague and unclear as they were, had been summarily dismissed and Officer Gordon’s suspension was revoked with no explanation attached. The matter – if it had actually occurred – had apparently been quickly and quietly resolved, thereby not officially becoming part of Gordon’s permanent record.

She turned around. “Are you…?”

The man looked stricken.

Rachel remembered a name on the yellowing form she’d read. “Your former partner – Detective Sarah Essen,” she said aloud.

Gordon tensed, ready to defend himself.

She held up her hand to indicate she meant no harm. “I’ve read your file.”

Gordon slowly sat back down in his chair. Rachel closed her office door. Then she sat down behind her desk.

Her mind quickly worked, attempting to piece together the details she’d read. The charge and its dismissal coincided with Detective Essen’s abrupt transfer out of Gotham. She and Gordon had been working as partners and successfully at that. It was a tired, old cliché – and it shamed her to think of it – but it _was_ a valid, working theory. A male officer having an affair with his married female partner – it wouldn’t have been the first time it had happened – would have caused a minor scandal back then and even now. Apparently, if her theory was correct, it had been shocking enough to force Essen out of Gotham, and had it not been for the recent intervention of the Bat, Gordon would have remained buried in the lower ranks of the police department until retirement, never to be heard from again.

Gordon looked down. He spoke quietly, “It happened a long time ago.”

Long ago now that the principals in that drama had long retired and moved away. Long enough that the newspapers and journalists digging through the lieutenant’s history and background would have never found it online. Rachel alone held the evidence in her desk drawer.

Rachel waited, not quite sure what to say. “We’ve all done things we later regret –” she began cautiously enough.

Gordon looked up sharply. “Do _we_?” he spoke in fierce anger.

Rachel was taken aback. “Yes, of course.”

Gordon shot to his feet. “None of it is true. _None_ of it.” His voice grew louder and louder. “Not one word. I could never – would _never_ – Sarah was wrong to –”

He stopped abruptly, looking at her in horror. Rachel remained immobile. The silence in the room was deafening.

Softly she spoke, “She was wrong to…”

Gordon rubbed his face with his palm. Rachel watched him pace across the worn carpet in her office, trying to calm down. Finally, he sat back down. He looked at her, and Rachel was pinned to her chair by his sharp, assessing gaze. It felt uncomfortably like being on the wrong end of the interrogation table.

She forced herself to remain composed, and she was relieved that her nervous habit of rubbing her fingers together was hidden by the desk between them.

Evidently, Gordon judged her worthy for he spoke clearly, “Detective Essen was my partner. She was a dear friend. Nothing more.”

No other response came to mind. “Okay,” she said without emotion.

Still, Gordon was agitated.

She took a gamble. “Then tell me your side of the story. You’ve obviously had this on your mind for days. You’ve been afraid it will hurt our case and undo all that you and Batman have accomplished. So tell me the truth. Tell me what really happened.”

Gordon stared at her in disbelief. Rachel forced herself to remain still and expressionless. For Gordon, keeping his mouth shut had enabled him to survive all those years in a corrupt justice department. She had no doubt he’d witnessed unspeakable travesties of justice, and he was sitting in her office today because he could keep his mouth shut when it counted. But times were changing. The good that had been accomplished in the Narrows had seen to that. Hope pervaded even the hallways of the district attorney’s office.

 _Come on, Jim,_ she silently urged him. _Tell me._

He began to talk haltingly slow. “It was all a lie. Somebody in the department – I don’t know who – accused us of… They said they had ‘evidence.’” He shook his head in disgust. “Sarah and I were working day and night on this case. We were actually getting somewhere. Falcone. We were getting close, we could feel it. And when we began to be… _approached_ by some of our other… we knew we were on the right track. We felt the pressure from the… to – to look for _other_ suspects, but Sarah and I – we knew we were doing the right thing. We were doing what we had sworn we would do.”

Rachel thought for a moment. Ten years ago, a case against Falcone that could have actually stood in a court of law! It was unheard of. She focused on the present. She asked, “What kind of evidence?” If any of this surfaced now, Gordon’s name and reputation, along with their case, was at risk. Public opinion was so easily swayed.

“Pictures.” 

So it was back to one-word answers. She delicately cleared her throat. “Compromising photographs, I’m assuming.”

“ _No_.”

She frowned. “Then what?”

“Just… pictures. Black and white photographs of Sarah and me eating at a diner for lunch or – or dinner if we were working late. Walking back to the car. Standing outside the precinct. Working. That sort of thing.”

“It doesn’t sound much like ‘evidence’ to me,” she commented. “Was that all?”

“Just more of the same. A picture of us laughing together over something or other. Driving home. Sometimes I’d drop her off at her house at the end of a shift. Sometimes she’d give me a ride to my apartment. Whichever was convenient at the time.”

“You saw these pictures.”

“Yes.”

“What else?” She felt he was withholding something crucial from her. “Are you telling me you and your partner were disciplined over some grainy photographs of you two sharing a sandwich? I find it hard to believe that Detective Essen and you abandoned a legitimate case against Falcone that would have stood in a court of law no matter who was presiding over some worthless photography.”

Gordon looked hard at her. He defended his former partner. “Detective Essen was a good _friend_ as well as a good _cop_. In the department, in those days as it is now, a good, reliable, trustworthy partner – you can’t take that for granted. Sarah was tough – any man or woman would have to be to do the job she did – but they got to her.”

Again, _they_. Rachel said calmly, “She was married.”

Gordon nodded. “David was a good man, but he didn’t understand. Long hours, late nights, the risks we took – _everything_ about the job. It stopped making sense to him. Sarah tried to explain, but he’d stopped listening.”

“So she turned to you.”

“That’s what partners do.” Gordon smiled a bitter smile. “But it’s _not_ what you think.”

“So you and your partner were close.”

The answer took its time in coming. “Yes. Of course.”

“How close?”

Gordon thought for a little while before answering carefully, “I knew she was unhappy. She loved David. And she also loved her work. We were working all hours of the day and night. David wanted her to quit. Their marriage was in trouble. She refused –”

“Is that why you’ve never married?”

He ignored the interruption. “– and he accused her of having an affair.”

“With you.”

Gordon laughed a strange laugh. “Of course he did.”

“ _Were_ you having an affair with Detective Essen?”

Gordon actually looked insulted. “No. Absolutely not.”

“David Essen thought so.”

“He was paranoid.”

“Paranoid.”

“Those damned photographs convinced him.”

“Lieutenant, _I’m_ not convinced.”

“Whoever had taken those photographs was following us. Leaving the house for work early in the morning. Coming home late at night after work. At work. Away from work. Sometimes, we’d… We were comfortable around each other. An innocent embrace, a kiss on the cheek. David saw it as something it wasn’t.”

“How did he get those photographs?”

Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone kept sending them to their house. He threatened to leave her.”

Rachel frowned. If this Detective Essen was as strong and as loyal as Gordon believed, the detective would have rather let her unreasonable husband take himself out of the picture and weather the storm. Eventually, the “scandal” would have run its course, a mere footnote in the course of history.

She crossed her arms in skepticism. “The story doesn’t make sense, Lieutenant. Your partner was having problems at home. Her husband was convinced you two were having an affair –”

Gordon leaped in. “The captain called us in. He’d received the same set of photos David had.” He leaned forward. “Miss Dawes, we were surrounded by bent cops, corruption, incompetence – and they chose to direct a full investigation on _us_. We denied the charges – Sarah laughed because it was ridiculous – but the captain’s mind was already made up. He wasn’t listening, anyway. He said he was promised other, ‘more disturbing’ evidence.”

“Like what?”

“I… don’t know.”

“So you were suspended.”

“Yes.”

“Indefinite suspension without pay. With a pending investigation.”

“Yes.”

“In other words, termination.”

“Yes.”

“You would have left the force in disgrace,” Rachel muttered under her breath. She looked up. “But the charges were immediately dropped.”

“Yes.”

“How did that happen?”

“I… don’t know.”

She knew it was a lie. His second, in fact.

“You _don’t know_.”

“The captain dismissed me and ordered me to clear out my desk.”

“What about Essen? What happened to her?”

“I left the room, but Sarah – she stayed behind.”

“What did they talk about?”

He hesitated again. “I… don’t know.”

“You’re lying now.”

“I wasn’t in the room! Look, the next thing I knew, the captain called me back in and assigned me to Flass. Sarah cleared out _her_ desk and left without a word. And whatever case we had on Falcone was gone.”

“Did you contact Detective Essen and asked her what happened?”

“It’s been over ten years since I last saw or spoke to her.”

He hadn’t answered the question, but she let it slide. Rachel thought for a moment. It was the effective dismantling of a partnership. It explained a little why she’d never heard of Jim Gordon until recent events. Whoever had handled this, had tried to destroy Essen’s and Gordon’s careers. Essen had vanished, but Gordon remained, albeit hands tied and completely incapacitated and ostracized.

A small part of her raged at the lack of representation both Essen and Gordon had. And at the denial of the opportunity to face their accuser or accusers. _They_ , she thought darkly.

“They tried to end your career, and had it not been for our Friend, they might as well have,” she observed. “For Essen, it was her marriage. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Weren’t they after _you_ as well? How were they coming after you?”

“Do you know what’s worse than a dirty cop?” he asked.

She raised an eyebrow.

“A homewrecker,” he answered his own question with a grimace. “It makes sense, you know. Lying, cheating, and stealing are hardly on the same level as adultery and infidelity.”

It was another deflection, but she said, “I’m sorry.”

Gordon shrugged. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”

In her mind, she reasoned. “Lieutenant, why didn’t _you_ fight the allegations? I don’t recall seeing any statements from you. Not one.”

In that instant, Gordon looked so tired, so weary. Hands wringing once more in his lap, he answered, “It’s” – he struggled for the right word – “…difficult to explain.”

Rachel took in the measured tone. “Difficult,” she repeated dryly.

“Complicated,” he offered.

But it certainly didn’t sound like it to her ears. Gordon was a single man. His partner, a tough, confident woman. Working in close quarters, sure, but theirs was a successful partnership. Each benefitted from having an honest partner who shared a real desire to see justice done.

She looked at Gordon.

Something larger, something more damning must have been looming on the horizon for him. In her experience, it was human nature to fight false allegations of wrongdoing when there were none… A thought suddenly struck her – unless there was something he _was_ hiding, he had no other choice. In that case, it would have been better to choose the lesser of two evils. Take a plea bargain – one career destroyed instead of two.

Perhaps that was what Sarah Essen had done.

“Lieutenant, you said you don’t know what your partner and the captain talked about after he dismissed you.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t believe him. “Then tell me what you _think_ they talked about.”

“I… I think Sarah – she made a deal.”

There it was. “What kind of deal?” She leaned forward in anticipation. “Her job, your case against Falcone in exchange for… what? What did she get out of it?”

“Nothing.”

“What did _you_ get out of it?”

Gordon kept his mouth firmly closed.

She recalled his earlier outburst. “You said she was wrong to do what she did.” And when Gordon held his silence, she pinned him with a hard gaze. “What aren’t you telling me, Lieutenant?”

What secret was he hiding?

Gordon clearly admired and respected Essen. Female detectives typically weren’t flighty women. He and Essen had been close, partners who wouldn’t have thought twice about taking a bullet for the other – or in this case, Rachel concluded, Essen wouldn’t have thought twice about sacrificing her career and their potential case in an attempt to save Gordon’s career… and what else? It hardly seemed a fair exchange at this point.

Or, was _that_ the point? _They_ were effectively letting the young detectives know who held the power to control their lives.

But Rachel figured Detective Essen was a better negotiator than that.

She quickly ran their conversation thus far through her mind. _He said he would have_ never _– he said he_ could _have never had an affair with Detective Essen…_

But why? Because of reasons of honor and integrity? If so, he would have said it by now. Something else, then.

She tested another working theory. “Did you harbor romantic feelings toward Detective Essen or she toward you?”

Gordon looked indignant. “Excuse me?”

“Detective Essen – were you in love with her, or she with you?” she repeated calmly. The question shouldn’t have taken long to answer, and Rachel watched his face expectantly.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Wasn’t she pretty enough for you? Not your type?”

A tinge of confusion when he answered, “She was a… an attractive woman… I suppose. If I…” He looked momentarily uncertain, and then it vanished. He opened his mouth as if to continue, but he snapped it shut. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me, Miss Dawes. What does this have to do with our case?”

Another deflection, but he’d already given himself away. Rachel had been listening for that instance of frustration and hesitation. _She was a… an attractive woman… I suppose if I_ – and her mind supplied the rest of the answer – _if I liked that sort of thing_. That sort of thing being the feminine form, of course.

Another valid theory and one she was going to pursue to the end.

She leaned back, very careful to consider her next few words. She took another gamble. She was walking a fine line now. “You _suppose_?”

“I’m not sure how you want me to answer these questions.”

“Yes, you do.”

He moved to stand. “This is – I think I should go now –”

“You don’t think any self-respecting defense lawyer won’t be asking these questions when you’re up on the stand? Your credibility is at stake.”

Gordon looked away. “It was a very long time ago.”

“Yes,” Rachel muttered under her breath, “you’ve mentioned that.”

Gordon sat back down in defeat.

She’d gotten the information she needed. She sensed he knew that, too, but her goal wasn’t to shame the man. The atmosphere in the room was too fragile for comedy, but she risked it, anyway. “I suppose I should take your rejection as a compliment of the highest order.”

Gordon looked up in astonishment, albeit guarded. “I… it’s… you’re…”

She had him scrambling now, and inwardly she grinned. “I’m…” she prompted. “Go on.”

“You’re… you’re…” Gordon finished lamely, “…the assistant DA.”

Rachel actually laughed out loud. “Well, I guess I’ll have to be content with that. But it’s not every day a girl gets turned down by a guy.”

“I’m sorry. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t want to –”

“– throw away the second chance our Friend has given you.”

He nodded.

“But I’m not married,” she reminded him. “So we should be fine, right? What’s the worse they could do?”

She picked up the phone and dialed her secretary. Gordon predictably tensed. She mouthed, “Relax.”

“Carol,” she spoke into the phone. “I’ll be taking lunch in my office today. Can you please order two of my usual from the deli and have them brought over? Yes, two. Lieutenant Gordon and I are still going over the case. Thank you.”

She hung up and walked toward the door to open it. She purposefully propped it wide open. She looked to Gordon for approval, and though he still looked doubtful, he nevertheless nodded his agreement.

 _Progress_ , she thought with a smirk and wondered what other form of 1950’s etiquette she’d need to utilize to gain and keep Gordon’s trust.

Rachel considered the small, fragile gift of trust she’d just received. The man so desperately wanted to get this case right. He wasn’t about to risk this second chance he’d been given to do his job and do it well. Rachel wasn’t about to, either. But she couldn’t help but wonder what changes the past ten years had wrought in this man. Ten years ago, had he been more optimistic, more confident, more driven, more open? A young man in the prime of his life, eager to change the dark world around him and supported by an equally enthusiastic partner. Times were changing and the world had grown more tolerant and even accepting, but _ten_ years ago? It was unheard of, let alone the focus of public discourse. How difficult would it have been for a man – and a police officer at that – to actively pursue what was then a wholly unacceptable lifestyle without repercussions? Blackmail, threats, exposure, harassment, ridicule – or far, far worse? The GCPD were very particular about the image they conveyed. Rough, brute force – no matter how corrupt – was the order of the day. What ‘other, more disturbing evidence’ did _they_ have on Gordon? Photographs of Gordon ‘engaging in conduct unbecoming an officer’? She was livid. That was a horrific invasion into Gordon’s personal life. But what if they did?

She had to ask. “Jim, were you seeing anyone during that time?”

He looked up sharply.

“ _Were_ you?” she pressed, hoping the note of apology in her voice was loud enough, but she had to know.

“No.”

“During that time, did you ever –”

“ _No_.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Should I be worried that any of this will surface during the trial?”

Gordon shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think it will. It won’t.”

She had a nagging feeling he was right. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged again.

“I’m glad you told me, Jim. We need to be prepared for any… surprises.”

Now he looked at her levelly. “He told me to if – when you asked.”

 _Oh_. A flash of annoyance appeared on her face. “I see. Our _Mutual Friend_ ,” she said dryly. In the back of her mind, she wondered, _Batman knows…?_ She thought of the file locked in her desk drawer.

The phone rang, and she picked it up.

“Rachel Dawes,” she answered. Gordon was studying the towers again. “Yes, put him through… Hi, Bruce.”

She smiled. In her ear, Bruce Wayne was joyfully babbling about something relevant only to him, and at the opposite end of the spectrum, Jim Gordon was sitting nervously in a wooden chair across from her, admirably putting on a show of a man desperately trying not to eavesdrop.

“Sorry, not today. You know I’m preparing for a big case.”

…

“I’m fine. No need. I’m having lunch in my office.”

…

“Really, it’s okay. Food’s on its way.”

…

“I’m not.” She looked directly across the desk. “Lieutenant Gordon is keeping me company.”

…

“Yes, _him_ again.” Rachel winked, and she was pleased to see Gordon smile back, albeit uncertainly. “Yes, Bruce,” Rachel said patiently, “ _Jim_ Gordon. Same as on the television.” She added dryly, “The same Jim Gordon I told you last night would be here around this time. Thought you weren’t paying attention.”

…

“Well, let me see.”

Gordon was clearly listening now. Despite his attempt to look painfully casual, a slight flush had appeared on his cheekbones. Rachel Dawes was not above a little matchmaking, not that Bruce Wayne needed encouragement in that department. Rachel issued him a thoroughly appraising look. “Hmm, about the same, I suppose. Maybe a little shorter.”

Gordon frowned.

She laughed.

…

“You want to know _what_?” Rachel looked at Gordon apologetically. “ _Batman_?” she mouthed.

Gordon stared back, his face closed. “Official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight,” he replied shortly.

Less than a month and he’d already managed to strike the right note of annoyance and bored officialdom delivering the line required. Rachel was impressed. She repeated his answer verbatim into the speaker, and then she grinned.

“Bruce says you’re no fun,” she informed the officer.

Gordon shrugged.

She added, “Bruce says you need to loosen up.”

The lieutenant responded wryly, “Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

Rachel laughed delightedly and repeated his very words into the mouthpiece.

…

“I know.” She smiled. “Isn’t he?”

…

“I _know_ you would. Why else would you be calling around this time?”

Gordon appeared nervous.

“Oh, you’re not fooling anyone, Bruce Wayne. Believe me,” said Rachel.

…

She laughed again. “Well, I’ve got to go. Jim and I have a case to make.”

…

“Yes, _Jim_.”

…

“You’re such a child.”

…

“Maybe. Talk to you later, all right? Say hello to Alfred for me, won’t you?”

…

“Be a good boy.” Then gently, “I can take care of myself. I will. Good-bye.”

No sooner had she hung up the phone when a cleared throat from the doorway indicated lunch had arrived. Rachel carefully cleared off her desk and Gordon helped maneuver some of the boxes out of the secretary’s pathway.

Soon they were eating in relatively comfortable silence, Gordon chewing thoughtfully when he spoke.

“So, you know Bruce Wayne.”

She was waiting for it, but she took a moment to relish the man’s first, clumsy attempt at small talk. Rachel took it for what it was, a prompt for more information. Everyone else approached her in much the same way.

“Yes,” she answered knowingly. “Bruce Wayne. The one and only. He’s such a comedian, isn’t he?”

Gordon cleared his throat. Bantering wasn’t a strength of his. “Er, yes,” he agreed uncertainly.

“Never a dull moment when Bruce is around. You’ve got to love him for it.” She looked to Gordon for consensus.

But the lieutenant assumed a strangely poignant look. He said gently, “I can come back later. All this” – he gestured toward their case files – “can wait. You ought to spend time together anytime you can.”

Rachel shook her head, but the peculiar bit of relationship advice from this single, unmarried man registered. “Too late. I already told him I had a date.” She winked at him. “Besides, he needs to learn I’m not at his beck and call.”

Gordon smiled back, albeit crookedly. “Have you… Are you… How long have you two known each other?”

“Since we were kids. Our parents were good friends.”

He offered sincerely, “I think you two make a… a handsome couple.”

It was intended to be a genuine compliment, but Rachel nearly choked on her sandwich. Gordon half stood, alarmed, but Rachel swallowed it down and took a swig from the bottle of water Gordon was offering her.

She laughed loudly when she was able to.

“I’m so sorry. _Bruce_? You must be joking. No, we are not a ‘couple.’” She saw Gordon frowning in confusion, so she hurried to explain. She was positive Bruce wouldn’t mind, not with all the hints he’d been dropping heavily in the past few days. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m not his _type_ ,” she said with a wink. “Not many people know, but there you go.”

Gordon, of course, pretended he did not know what she was insinuating, but Rachel was onto him by now. She allowed him to feign ignorance, but she nonetheless looked at him knowingly. The slight grimace – and flush – on Gordon’s face was her reward.

She rewrapped the rest of her sandwich and placed it to the side. She picked up the nearest pile of papers to her right and began to read. It was time to get back to work.

Gordon interrupted, earnest as always, “Regardless of…” He let the sentence hang. “Your friendship with Bruce Wayne – that’s currency in this city.”

Rachel paused in her perusal and looked at Gordon evenly. From anyone else, she would have taken that statement as condescending. Of course, she knew. Bruce Wayne, with all his money and influence and yes, power –

She looked at him pointedly, “Your unique… _relationship_ with our ‘Mutual Friend.’ Currency just as strong, maybe even stronger in this economy.”

Her barb hit home, and she was gratified to see a flush quickly spreading across his cheeks once more. To his credit, Gordon did not avert his gaze.

“I… I know,” he simply said.

Playing the devil’s advocate, Rachel argued, “We don’t even know who he is. He could be a lunatic! A bat, for goodness’ sake! He could be deranged –”

“But _you_ took the antidote I gave you. No questions asked,” he interrupted gently. “And you knew where I had gotten it from.”

Not willing to concede her position quite yet, she opened her mouth to argue. “I just think you really ought to be careful, Jim. You don’t know whom you’re dealing with –”

“I trust him.”

It was quite a profound thing to say, this coming from a man for whom trust seemed to be an issue. But Gordon’s gaze was clear, and he silently challenged her to dispute his statement.

She had to ask. “How can you say that?”

Where Gordon would have hesitated an hour earlier, he now spoke quietly but firmly, “Because he knows me.”

“He knows you…?”

He spoke in a low voice, “Sarah knew, too. When she threw away her career, she was protecting me. She knew what they would have done to me had they found out, had they… gotten closer.”

She could only imagine. _Batman and I are the only ones who know_ , Rachel thought with wonder and disbelief. If her questioning Gordon felt like pulling teeth, she wondered what the Bat’s conversation with Gordon had been like.

Aware of the open office door, she spoke quietly. “But times _are_ changing,” she offered tentatively. But truly, what could she know about things like this?

“Yes, they are.”

 _Indeed_. “If you trust him, Jim,” she said, “then that makes two of us.” It was incredibly corny and melodramatic, but she extended her hand toward him. “Deal, partner?”

Without hesitation, Gordon took her hand in his and gave it a firm shake.

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said she saw a distinct twinkle in the lieutenant’s eye.

* * *

The lieutenant left her office three hours later. The case was nearly complete, and it was time for her to go home.

After Gordon had shut the door behind him, Rachel had received another call from Bruce Wayne. With Gordon out of earshot, she teased her old friend mercilessly. Bruce had laughed along with her.

Jim Gordon was Bruce Wayne’s type to the T. Older, attractive but without artifice or pretense. Gordon carried a strong sense of gravity and purpose that even at his most whimsical, Bruce had always been drawn to as far as Rachel could recall. Flighty creatures of the night intrigued the playboy for a little while, but invariably he ended the night with someone of a little more substance.

In her opinion, it was a perfect match – were it not for the Batman.

 _Your unique…_ relationship _with our ‘Mutual Friend’_ – Gordon hadn’t corrected her. But she needed no further confirmation than the strong display of loyalty Gordon had shown toward the Bat, and it seemed to be an essential component in any of Gordon’s partnerships.

Inwardly, she was a little disappointed. Jim Gordon would have been good for Bruce Wayne. For a man whose head was up high in the clouds, a partner with both feet planted firmly on the ground seemed a perfect match. In her opinion, Bruce’s outlandish lifestyle, though perfectly befitting a man of leisure, could use a little more of Gordon’s more practical existence. A man familiar with long hours and difficult labor would have surprisingly much to offer the billionaire playboy.

She stood to leave. Her hand was on the knob when she turned around and returned to her desk. She unlocked her lower desk drawer and pulled out Gordon’s personnel file. None of the papers had mentioned Gordon’s suspension. No mention of ‘compromising’ photographs, either. Their Mutual Friend may have done a thorough job – more than his fair share, apparently – but a stray, yellowing form still existed. And Rachel Dawes alone had it. If she could unerringly piece history together, who was to say another couldn’t as well?

She took the form in hand and placed the rest of the file back in the drawer. She locked it and walked to the paper shredder sitting in the corner of her office. Without hesitation, she fed the form into the machine and watched the evidence disappear.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 09/26/2010 on LiveJournal and possibly FanFiction.Net.


End file.
